


Any Way The Wind Blows

by Whisperitonce



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, M/M, Multi, Pneumonia, Poly!Queen Week 2019, References to Depression, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-08 08:57:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20832797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whisperitonce/pseuds/Whisperitonce
Summary: For Poly!Queen Week 2019, Tuesday prompt: sickfic.It's almost the end of a tour. Roger comes down with the flu. But it's fine. He's fine. Everything is fine.Right?





	1. It's either blazing hot or freezing cold

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, huge thanks to Tikini and Jessahmewren for starting Poly!Queen Week and actually inspiring me to write something! This is my first time writing fanfic in about 10 years, any first time ever for the Queen Fandom. So, um, sorry if it's awful.
> 
> Title is from the song of the same name from the musical Hadestown (and also obviously from Bohemian Rhapsody). Chapter titles from the Hadestown song :)
> 
> Finally, this is as medically and historically accurate as I could reasonably make it, considering a) I am not a human doctor (I am a doctor, and a human, but my patients are not), b) I was not alive yet when this story takes place, and c) plot.

Los Angeles, California, Late September 1982

World-renowned rock band Queen has just finished the North American leg of their Hot Space tour, culminating in two very successful and high-energy nights at the Forum in Los Angeles, one of their favorite venues to play. All four band members, not to mention their crew, are looking forward to a bit of break. Granted they still have one more brief leg of this tour - six concerts in Japan, to be exact - but that isn’t for a few more weeks.

“Plenty of time to go home for a bit,” Roger argues (whines) to his bandmates (who also happen to be his boyfriends). “Haven’t been home in ages.” He misses their oversized bed, and his car, and their cats. Just – he misses home.

“The weather is so much better here in LA,” Brian counters. “And anyway, it makes more sense to fly from LA to Japan rather than go the other way ‘round the globe via London. Less jet lag if we just stay here for a few weeks.” It is not the first time he’s made either of these points, and John nods along in agreement. John does empathize with Roger, as John himself is actually rather keen to spend some time at home, but practicality wins him over in the end.

“We’re staying here until Japan” Freddie pronounces with an air of finality, and really Roger knows there is little point in arguing any more after that.

\---

A few days later, Roger is secretly starting to be grateful they hadn’t gone back to London between gigs (not that he’ll admit as much to his partners). In the come-down from the adrenalin and rigorous routine of the tour, he’s feeling… well, rather awful, actually. He’s in bed, having just woken up, and he doesn’t quite know what time it is, but he supposes it must be later than he normally sleeps. He’s alone in the bed, the covers a tangled mass, and he can hear the normal noises beyond the door of others going about their day. God, his head is throbbing. And he didn’t even get drunk last night. The light coming in through the high windows is not helping matters, and he wishes fervently that it was his sunglasses that were within easy reach on the bedside table, rather than his regular ones. He groans and slowly levers himself up to a sitting position, letting out a few hacking coughs once he is more vertical.

Roger is annoyed. He does **not **want to be sick. He doesn’t have **time **to be sick. Okay, technically there’s a few weeks left before they have to fly to Japan, so he supposes it’s not the _worst_ possible timing. But it still sucks. He coughs again, wincing at the pain in his chest the act causes, and brings his hand up to rub at his sternum. He takes a mental survey of the rest of his systems: his nose is surprisingly not stuffy, and his headache is dulling a bit now, thankfully. His stomach feels fine – maybe not as hungry as he usually is when he wakes, but not nauseated either. He’s tired, but not sleepy, and honestly he’s had (many) hangovers that have felt much worse than this. Roger’s general approach to being ill can vary quite a bit, but for now he’s in (what Brian would call) an ornery mood, not at all prepared to let his overrun body have the final say. So, that decided, he pulls himself out of bed, barks a few more coughs into his fist, and exits the bedroom.

When he makes it to the common area, he finds all three of his lovers having a quiet and relaxing day. Brian is sitting on one couch reading a book and drinking tea. John is on the other couch with a newspaper, doing his best to read it despite Freddie being sprawled half on top of him and rambling on about God-knows-what. They all look up when Roger shuffles into the room and toward the kitchen, and take in his more-disheveled-than-usual appearance, the dark circles surrounding his eyes, and the pallor of his face (apart from the flushed cheeks). Freddie is the first to jump up to approach him.

“Oh dear, are you ill Darling?” he exclaims, trying to reach out to put his hand on Roger’s forehead. Roger dodges him and continues on toward the kitchen. A nice cup of tea will quell the ongoing urge to cough up his lungs, he is certain.

“Are you sure you’re feeling alright, Roger?” John keeps his tone even, but Roger isn’t oblivious to the hint of concern that leaks through.

“Oh, sod off Deacy. Just… overslept is all.” He grumbles as he prepares his tea. Freddie seems to be contemplating a sneak-attack to feel for his temperature, but is puzzling out how to do so without risking spilled tea (thermal burns would certainly not improve Roger’s health OR his attitude). John makes eye contact with Brian behind Roger’s back and lifts his eyebrow, and Brian just shakes his head. He knows that if Roger is truly sick, he’ll have to succumb and let them care for him eventually, and there’s no point in antagonizing him right now with the mood he’s in. John shrugs and returns to his newspaper. Freddie pouts but seems to also realize that it’s best to leave Roger alone for the moment. He returns to the living room, this time settling on the same couch as Brian, plopping his feet in Brian’s lap.

Tea in hand, Roger makes his way over to them, sets his cup onto the coffee table, and flops unceremoniously into the open space on John’s couch. Unfortunately, doing so sets off a coughing fit that lasts for at least 30 seconds, and leaves him winded and with tears in his eyes. When he finally catches his breath, the others are all staring at him in mild alarm.

“Fine,” he grits out, “I might be a little sick. I’ll just go…” he gestures vaguely toward the bedroom “…sleep it off.”

\---

Roger does sleep – fitfully, and never for many hours consecutively before he wakes either to cough until his lungs feel like they’re turning inside out, or to realize he’s drenched in sweat and freezing after having kicked off all the blankets in a fevered state. Fortunately, the house they’re renting has several bedrooms; normally they all share, but Roger now insists he sleep alone so he doesn’t keep them all up all night, or infect them with whatever heinous virus he’s managed to contract. (They still wake in the night when hear his loud and harsh coughs, and they take turns going in to rub his back, freshen his pillows, and soothe him back to sleep. He at least allows that, or rather lacks the energy reject it).

On the third day of Roger’s illness, with said blond drummer showing little to no improvement, but refusing to entertain the idea of seeing a doctor, the other three members of Queen are all officially Worried. “This is one hell of a flu,” Brian observes to Freddie and John as they watch over Roger, who for the moment is asleep on the couch. “I’m a little surprised the rest of us have avoided it, honestly. We’re all run down from touring.”

“We must just be lucky, I guess.” John muses. “Or Roger was very unlucky.”

“I don’t like the way he’s breathing” Freddie quietly admits. “It’s faster than it had been. And it sounds wrong.”

“Okay, that’s it.” Brian stands and goes to prop another pillow under the sleeping blond’s shoulders, hoping that elevating him a little will improve his breathing. “He’s seeing a doctor, whether he likes it or not. He’ll be lucky if I don’t drag his stubborn arse to a hospital!”

“My thoughts exactly!” Freddie enthuses.

“I agree,” John puts in quickly, “I’ll go get in touch with management, make arrangements for him to see a doctor.”

“Thanks John.” Brian shoots him a grateful smile. John smirks back at him.

“Oh, don’t thank me. You get to break the news to him when he wakes up.”

\---

“No. Don’t wanna.” Roger says petulantly when he hears of this development. He’s now leaning up against Freddie, who is running his fingers soothingly through the drummer’s hair and sweetly trying to coax (or bribe) him into agreeing to see a doctor.

“Roger…” Brian starts in with a warning tone.

“Brian, I can’t” Roger whines, sounding wrecked. “I’m too tired. I don’t want to get up. Or put on clothes.” He is currently just in his boxers, having reasoned that he would just sweat through pajamas anyway so what was the point. He looks up at his tallest boyfriend pleadingly. “Don’t feel good.” He whispers pathetically, and Brian can feel his resolve crumbling.

“Rog…” he trails off and looks to Freddie for help. But John, returning from a phone call he had been on in the other room, is the one who comes to his rescue.

“Don’t worry Rog, you can stay right where you are.” John brings with him a cool wet cloth and lays it tenderly on his boyfriend’s fevered brow. “I talked to Miami and he’s arranged for a house call. The doctor should be here in about an hour. Is that alright?”

“Oh. Yeah, alright.” Roger lolls his head back against Freddie’s chest. “Thanks Deacy.” He coughs a couple times, and then yawns. “Gonna rest ‘til then.” And with Freddie still petting him, he’s back asleep within minutes.

Brian, relieved to have that settled, pulls John into him and kisses him. “Yeah, thanks Deacy” he echoes affectionately, as they get comfortable on the opposite couch to wait for the doctor.

\---

“You’ve got a nice case of Pneumonia, son” the doctor pronounces, after intently listening through his stethoscope to Roger’s breathing for several moments. “Or at least, that’s what I suspect without an x-ray to confirm it. Probably secondary to the flu. It’s been going around.”

“Great,” Roger mutters. “Fucking great.” He coughs in a way that somehow sounds defeated.

“Oh, my poor dear!” Freddie fusses over him. Roger doesn’t fight it – no point in denying his illness now, and he must confess it does feel better to be tended to.

“Does he need to be in hospital?” John asks seriously. Roger lets out a piteous moan of protest and the doctor eyes him, considering.

“Hmm, I don’t believe so,” he finally decides. “At least not right this moment. We’ll start him on some oral antibiotics and see how he does. Of course, get him to the hospital right away if his breathing is more labored or wheezy, or if his fever spikes.” He finishes scrawling out a prescription on his pad and passes it to Brian.

“Um,” Brian starts tentatively, looking sidelong at John before turning his gaze back to the doctor.

“Yes?”

“Well, you see… we have six more concerts to play. In Japan. In three weeks. Will he be able to play drums and sing by then?”

“Of course I bloody will” Roger huffs indignantly. Brian ignores him in favor of waiting expectantly for the doctor’s response.

“Well…” The band members all seem to hold their breath waiting for his verdict, “…I imagine he should be feeling a lot better by then. In fact, once he starts taking the medication he’ll probably be feeling significantly better in just a few days. But he needs to really take it easy for as long as possible until you leave, and finish **all **of the antibiotics. Understand?”

Relieved to hear that Roger will be feeling better soon and that they shouldn’t need to reschedule any tour dates, they all assure him that the patient will do exactly that (by force if necessary). Brian and John see the doctor to the door, while Freddie kisses Roger’s forehead and promises to come up with something he’ll love for dinner, since the doctor did say has to eat with his antibiotics. Roger hums his acknowledgement and appreciation, and thinks to himself as he drifts off again that he really does have the most amazing boyfriends.

\---

Fortunately for them all, Roger does gradually improve. It takes a little longer than they’d expected or hoped for: about a week before he’s really starting to feel any better at all, rather than the few days the doctor had projected. He doesn’t get worse at any point though, so he’s able to avoid hospitalization.

By the time they arrive in Japan, he’s mostly recovered. He still tires very easily, but he blames jet lag for that more than anything. His cough hasn’t fully disappeared – it’s not nearly as bad as it had been, but still annoyingly lingering. However, he recalls several other occasions where he’s had a cold or other run-of-the-mill respiratory infection, and the cough seemed to be the last symptom to resolve, so he’s not too concerned about it. He’s also developed some joint aches and pains, which seem to be worst after sitting at his kit drumming non-stop for a couple hours, but he supposes that’s not too surprising either.

The thing is, after three weeks of being treated like an invalid (which, fair point, he was), he’s 104% done with being coddled. He’s snapped at all three of his boyfriends enough times for asking how he’s feeling that they’ve stopped asking, which is what Roger wants. He feels slightly bad about it (they’ve really been quite lovely to him these last few weeks), but he finds it is much easier to push through and pretend he’s back in top form when people don’t keep drawing attention to his health (or lack thereof). He does a passable job with the Japanese concerts, he thinks. Luckily only the first two concerts are on back-to-back nights; the other four are spread across the following two weeks, giving him time to recuperate and rally in between. He doesn’t go out shopping and exploring Japan with the others as much as he has on previous tours, preferring to save his energy for sound checks and the shows, but no one calls him out on it.

By early November they’re **_finally _**back home, and Roger thinks he’s never been happier to see grey, gloomy London skies.


	2. When the dark clouds roll

London, England, Late January 1983

By some miracle, Roger makes it through Christmas, and Boxing Day, and New Year’s. He’s relieved that the whirlwind of the holidays is over, but now without that for a distraction, he’s back to being aware that he just doesn’t feel… good. He is so tired all the time (now with nothing to blame it on), and where he used to love eating, these days he is mostly apathetic toward food. Their sex life isn’t _suffering_, per se – he’s still typically happy to have sex most any time one or more of the others are in the mood – but he doesn’t really initiate anymore. And the most frustrating part is that he has a stupid cough again. Or still. Did it ever completely go away? He’s not sure, but he’s fed up.

If he really thinks about it, he hasn’t felt perfectly healthy for even a single full day since that stupid flu back in autumn. And that scares him a little, because what if feeling like this is permanent? What if this is as good as his health is ever going to be for the rest of his life? How long can he go on being the-drummer-and-one-of-the-vocalists-of-Queen if a simple trip to the shops is, frankly, enough to exhaust him for the rest of the day? He absolutely loathes thinking about that, so mostly he tries to act as if everything is completely normal. _Fake it ‘til you make it, right?_ He can’t tell if he’s actually succeeding at fooling anyone, but they haven’t said anything to him so it’s fine. He’s fine. Everything is fine.

\---

If anyone were to ask Freddie Mercury, everything is NOT fine. He knows his blond love is feeling poorly, despite his best efforts to conceal it and muscle through. Freddie’s seen Roger naked enough times that he can say beyond shadow of doubt that the younger man has definitely lost weight recently (and he was skinny to start). It saddens Freddie to see the normally vivacious man looking so weary. He knows Brian and John have noticed as well. The three of them have discussed it while carefully out of earshot of Roger, since their beloved drummer can and will throw a fit or enter a prolonged sulk if he discovers they have been talking about him behind his back. They are just not entirely sure what to do about it. Brian and John are inclined to wait Roger out – they don’t fancy being the target of his temper. However, Freddie is getting impatient. He’s itching to confront Roger and find a plan to get everything back to normal right **_now, _**thank-you-very-much. But surprisingly, Roger (sort of) beats him to the punch.

They are all cozy together in their sitting room with a fire roaring in the fireplace. Freddie notices Roger rubbing at his own knees like they are aching, so he wordlessly starts massaging his legs for him, which the younger amazingly allows without complaint. They all sit in companionable silence for a few moments.

“I think maybe we should head back to LA,” Roger says suddenly. He addresses Freddie, though he knows John and Brian can hear him as well.

“Oh? Why’s that?” Freddie responds, faux-casually, curious to hear Roger’s line of reasoning.

“Well, we all know Bri likes the sunshine…” Roger begins. He flicks a meaningful glance toward their guitarist, who does tend to get more melancholy during the dark and frigid winter months. And who is currently sporting a beard, which is an indisputable sign that he is in a depressive state (not that any of his boyfriends need a physical indicator to know that). “And Deacy had that cold last week...”

“I’m feeling better now,” John remarks, but he lets Roger continue.

“And Freddie, I know you enjoy how much there is to see and do in LA. And… maybe the warmer weather will be good for me too.”

Freddie knows it is the closest Roger will get to admitting that he’s not feeling 100%. Plus he’s certain that if Roger felt this plan would **only **benefit him, he wouldn’t have even brought it up in the first place. But Freddie can work with this.

“John? Brian?” he polls the room.

“I don’t mind,” John responds. “I would quite like to go to Disneyland, actually.” Roger shoots him a genuine grin. Brian offers them a wan smile and nods his assent.

“Excellent!” Freddie claps his hands. “I will call Miami in the morning to make the arrangements. California here we come!”


	3. When your body aches to lay it down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst ahead! And some medical jargon/technical explanations, sorry!

Los Angeles, California, early March 1983

Roger does not know exactly what he was expecting to happen once they were in LA. Actually, that’s not quite true. He was expecting (or at least, fervently hoping) to feel tons better after a week or so of hallowed California sunshine. And then he would join Freddie at the clubs, and take Deacy to Disneyland, and go to Griffith Observatory with Brian. Alas, that is not what happens. He even gives it a few weeks, to really be able to test the hypothesis, but he’s still fatigued and achy and he still has a cough and almost no food appeals to him. He’s going to be forced to admit soon that his idea is big fat failure.

Well, not a complete failure – the others seem to be enjoying themselves, so that’s something. They’ve rented another house, this time a rather large one with a swimming pool and a tennis court in the back garden. It’s not quite warm enough to swim, but Freddie and John are playing a raucous game of tennis while Roger is lounging in a lawn chair and is occasionally called upon to be their line judge. Roger feels a shadow fall over him and cranes his neck upward to find Brian has made his way over to him. He pats the seat next to him, inviting his tallest boyfriend to sit with him. It’s awkward, and for a moment there’s a justified fear that the chair is going to collapse, but Brian manages to situate himself next to Roger and snuggles up to him.

“How are you doing, love?” Roger asks, laying gentle kisses along Brian’s recently clean-shaven jaw.

“I’m good, baby. Promise.” He smiles and Roger knows he is telling the truth. At least this part of his plan has worked. “Same question to you,” Brian says, nudging him gently with his elbow.

“I’m fine Bri.” Roger responds softly while he fiddles with one of the buttons on Brian’s shirt. Brian covers Roger’s hand with his own and sighs.

“Rog. I’m not buying it. Neither are John and Freddie. You haven’t been yourself at all and we don’t-” he cuts off and ponders his next words for a moment before speaking. “Roger, are you unhappy in this relationship?”

“WHAT?” Roger is horrified. “No, God no, that’s not it at all! I love what we have. I love you three with all my heart.”

“Then what is it? Talk to me, Rog, _please_” Brian implores.

Roger feels tears spring to his eyes unbidden. He is so sick of pretending that he’s fine. So sick of being exhausted all time. So sick of snapping at his boyfriends every time they try to get him to eat when he just isn’t hungry. He’s sick, he’s sick, _oh God, _he’s **sick**_. _

He takes a few shuddering breaths. Brian clutches his hand tighter.

“Roger, you’re scaring me. Tell me what’s wrong so I, we, can help you.”

Roger squeezes his hand back for a brief second, and seems to make a decision. “Hurts” he mumbles. Brian’s brow furrows. That’s certainly not what he’s expecting to hear at all.

“What hurts, baby?”

There’s a long pause, and Brian starts to think the other man isn’t going to respond. But then – “breathing,” Roger whispers, and abruptly the tears are falling and he buries his face in Brian’s chest and cries, little hitching sobs.

Brian feels his own heart shatter as he tries to comfort the smaller man. “Oh, sweetheart. It’s okay, you’ll be okay. We’ll fix it, love” he vows. “We’ll fix it.”

\---

They take him to see a doctor, a specialist at UCLA’s medical center. Dr. April Tanner, Pulmonologist, according to the name plate on her office door. If the doctor is at all confused or surprised to find her adult patient accompanied by three other men (not to mention them comprising the complete lineup of a famous rock band), she doesn’t let on. She starts by taking a thorough medical history. Roger recounts his symptoms in a way that is quite matter-of-fact and detached, almost as if he is talking about someone else. His boyfriends are aware that this seems to be what he needs to do in order to get through discussing his own vulnerability with a total stranger. At least he doesn’t downplay the symptoms – he knows that for the best shot at a solution, he needs to be forthcoming with the doctor. He’ll worry about the guilty looks all of his lovers are sporting later on.

“And can you give me an idea of when all of this started?” Dr. Tanner queries. “The cough and chest pain especially, but also the fatigue, joint aches, and lack of appetite?”

“Um… I guess towards the end of our last tour? So… maybe 5 months?” He’s a little more hesitant now. Partly he is trying to spare Brian, Freddie, and John from further guilt – they’ve all told him numerous times in the few days since Roger’s confession to Brian that they feel awful they didn’t push the issue sooner – and partly he is a little afraid that the doctor is going to berate him for not seeking medical attention sooner.

“He had pneumonia in September” Brian supplies. “Looking back, that seems to be when this all started. I guess we were a little too preoccupied with the tour and everything to take proper notice.” He adds remorsefully.

“It was just a stupid flu. I was fine.” Roger mutters. The rest of them tactfully don’t comment that he clearly was not fine. Freddie just reaches over and pats his knee, and since it is Freddie, his least-likely-to-be-patronizing boyfriend, Roger tolerates the gesture.

“Alright then, speaking of your tour,” Dr. Tanner continues, “tell me more about your travel history, Mr. Taylor.”

Roger smirks at her. “How long have you got, Doc?”

John rolls his eyes and decides that if his blond boyfriend is done being helpful, he might as well speed this along. “We had just finished up the North American leg of the tour when Roger came down with the flu. Or pneumonia. Whatever it was. I can get you a copy of the tour itinerary with all the exact places and dates.”

“That would be great, thank you.” The doctor smiles at him. “In the meantime, Mr. Taylor, I am going to send you for some chest x-rays and a blood draw. I would like to meet again in about a week to go over all of the results. Alright?” He nods and then tunes out as the doctor (wisely) relays the details to John and Brian.

\---

Just over a week later, they are all four back in Dr. Tanner’s office. Roger feels a bit silly to be accompanied by all three of them again, especially considering he himself has the most medical background out of them all. He had half-heartedly protested that he could handle it alone, but that idea was quickly shot down. He’s actually quite glad to have their support, for now that the time has come, he is a mess of nervous anticipation. Two opposing fears are chasing around his brain: either that he has some terrible disease with no cure, or that they have found nothing at all wrong with him and it’s all in his head. He can’t decide which outcome would be worse.

After warmly greeting them, and not seeming at all bothered by the fact that her patient has once again shown up with an entourage, Dr. Tanner gets down to business. “Alright, Mr. Taylor, we have some results here. I’d like to start by reviewing your chest x-rays with you.” She pulls a couple films out of a large manila envelope and hangs them on a light box on the wall of her office. She flips a switch to backlight the images, and they all gather close, a little unsure what they are looking at. “Quick x-ray one-oh-one,” the doctor begins, “the more dense a structure is, the whiter it will be on x-ray. So bone is the most white, air is the darkest. Everything else is shades of gray in between. So this,” she points to the middle of the image, “is Mr. Taylor’s heart. “These darker areas around the heart are his lungs. And these…” she points out several round white spots within the lungs “are nodules, or basically areas where the lung tissue is more dense.”

_Nodules? As in…? _Blood is roaring in Roger’s ears now_. This. Cannot. Be. Happening._

“So what does that mean?” John asks with a slight edge to his voice. 

“Cancer.”Roger interjects in a steely voice. He swallows hard, and clenches and unclenches his fists a few times. He has a hard set to his jaw as his raises his eyes to meet the doctor’s. “It means I have cancer, doesn’t it?” He challenges. Beside him, Freddie lets out a little distressed noise and grabs for his hand. He thinks he hears John mutter a curse word. Brian, now white as a sheet, wordlessly places his arm across Roger’s shoulders.

“Actually,” Dr. Tanner quickly counters, “there are several other possible reasons for nodules in the lungs that are not cancer. Why don’t we all take a seat?” She gestures to the chairs around her desk, and they all troop over (Brian fairly tugging Roger with him). Once they’re settled, she starts back in. “Based on just those x-ray images, cancer did have to be on our list of possible diagnoses,” she admits. “**However**, based on Mr. Taylor’s initial symptoms, and your travel history, I ordered a few more specific tests on the blood we had. And based on those results, we have a diagnosis.”

“You… you do?” Roger asks in a tiny voice. She smiles kindly at him.

“Yes, we do. Mr. Taylor, your blood tests show you are infected with something called Coccidioides.”

_Huh?_

“Cocks… Disease?” Freddie attempts to echo, his face scrunched in confusion. “What does… _that_ have to do with Roger’s lungs?” He asks, and John gives a long-suffering sigh. Brian, embarrassed, hides his face in one of his large hands. Roger is just as confused, and looks to the doctor blankly. Luckily, she seems unperturbed, maybe even a bit amused.

“Kok-sid-e-oy-deze” she enunciates, “also known as Valley Fever. It is a fungal infection.”

“How did Roger get a fungal infection?” Brian, of course, wants details.

“Well, basically, the spores of the fungus live in the soil in certain regions. When the soil is disturbed, the spores go airborne. If someone inhales those spores, they become infected. Honestly, most people who inhale spores don’t show symptoms, and may never know they had it. For those who DO become ill, the initial symptoms are usually flu-like and often resolve on their own. But if the person’s immune system doesn’t completely eliminate the fungus, it can go into more of a chronic form of infection, which seems to have happened with Mr. Taylor. Valley Fever can progress a lot of different ways; it really depends on the individual’s immune system, and how much spores they inhale.”

“So when I was sick last Autumn? That wasn’t the flu or pneumonia? It was this Valley-whatever?”

“If you want to get technical, you did** – **and still do – have a form of pneumonia. It was just caused by a fungus, rather than a virus or bacteria.”

“What about this lot?” Roger gestures to the other three band members. “We… spend a lot of time together. I haven’t put them at risk, have I?” He’ll be absolutely devastated if any of his boyfriends get sick and it’s his fault.

“No, fortunately, the Valley Fever fungus is not contagious from person to person. Infection can only occur from breathing in the spores from soil.”

“Oh. That’s good.” Roger is still trying to wrap his head around all of this. “So… where did I get it, then?”

“Well, the fungus is only found in a relatively small geographic region. It likes hot and dry climates, so pretty much the southwest United States and northern Mexico. Now, usually if someone IS going to show symptoms of Valley fever, it will be within a few weeks of being infected. Therefore, based on the onset time of your symptoms, and the tour dates and locations you provided, it is most likely that you were infected when you were in Phoenix, Arizona mid-September last year.”

“Well, we’re certainly never going **there** again.” Freddie proclaims, and the others are inclined to agree.

“You boys haven’t even let me get to the good news yet,” Dr. Tanner teases them gently, which of course garners their undivided attention. “The good news is that this infection is treatable. Mr. Taylor, we’re going to start you on the proper anti-fungal medication, and you should make a full recovery.” The four boys all share relieved and elated grins with each other.

“So I’ll be able to get back to work? I’ll have the energy to drum and sing again soon?” For the first time in nearly 6 months, Roger dares to be hopeful.

“Yes, you will. Now, I must caution you, the course of treatment for fungal infections like this is long – usually three to six months. We’ll monitor blood tests and symptoms to decide when you can stop the medication. But after just a few weeks on the meds you should be starting to feel better. You still need to take it easy for a while and get a lot of rest so your body can heal, but I imagine by this Fall we’ll have you feeling good as new!”

And really that’s the best news any of them could have asked for.


	4. He had a way with words (and the rhythm and the rhyme)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even though this is very short, I decided it worked better as its own little epilogue chapter instead of part of the previous chapter :)

Record Plant Studios, Los Angeles, California, August 1983

Several days ago, Roger had gotten the approval from Dr. Tanner to stop taking his anti-fungal medication. He’s been feeling great, no residual symptoms for at least a month now, and has been itching to get back into the recording studio with his partners. They’ve all been working on songs, and they seem to be on the same page with the sound of this album, which is a relief after the trials of recording Hot Space. They’re all just grateful to be back in the studio together, and **_able_** to record another album.

Roger warms up on his drums, and feels his smile grow wider and wider as he effortlessly adds flourishes and little flurries while his boyfriends watch him adoringly. He eventually winds down, and looks to Freddie to cue him to start laying down the backing track for the first song they’re recording.

“Are we ready?” Freddie teases, winking at Roger. The drummer grins back unabashedly.

“I know I am. Let’s give them the works!”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading! Hope you enjoyed it. I crave validation, so kudos and comments are greatly appreciated if you are so inclined. You're welcome to tell me you hated it too, I suppose. Just know that I will probably cry. Or become very defensive. Or both ;)
> 
> Oh, but don't feel like you have to comment on the excessive use of commas, hyphens, and parentheses. I am aware and I am at peace with it ; D


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